


Overheated

by CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper/pseuds/CowboyBootsAndHuntersHelper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened 3 weeks ago at a motel in South Bend. Castiel still hasn't figured out what he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overheated

**Author's Note:**

> Short fic to distract me from being sick while the internet was down, so please forgive any boo-boo's

Castiel isn’t a child. He is also not, as Dean may have once put it, a baby in a trench coat. Regardless of whether or not he has actually performed the task as a human before, he is in fact fully capable of taking a bath. Sam and Dean had shrunk away at his withering look when they asked if he needed help. He may no longer have his grace, but he has hardly forgotten anything he learned over his multiple millennia of watching the earth and it’s inhabitants. He also still retains his pride. Which is the largest part of the problem he now faces. After such an adamant refusal for help, how could he call either of the brothers in now? He had done everything right, he’s sure of it. He undressed, plugged the drain, turned the dial to start the water, turned it off before it could overflow... surely a task so simple could not be messed up to such a degree it would cause any physical harm, but Castiel, after having enjoy the soothing water for some time now, finds himself unable to yell down the hall for help even if he could swallow his pride enough to attempt it. He breathes deeper, trying to pull air into his lungs that just do not want to cooperate, fighting an unexplained weight around his chest and ribcage. Limply, he pulls his arm from the tub to scrabble at the sides, hoping to find purchase enough to stagger to his feet. The weakness in his limbs frightens him. He swallows his embarrassment and calls for Dean, but only a whimper makes it’s way out from his throat. He puts what weight he can on his arm and pushes into a sitting position. He regrets it immediately. A wave of dizziness sweeps it’s way through his skull, and another pitiful murmur escapes him as he falls back into the water.

“De-an...” his voice is scratchy, leaving him gasping for more of the difficult, heavy air filling the small room. He knows it’s ineffective, and likely just causing him more difficulty, but that doesn’t stop him from trying again.

“De...Dean!” A little louder that time. Good. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the tub, gathering the strength to call again. His heart quickens when he hears voices outside the door.

“Dude, I’m telling you, I didn’t hear anything. I know you’re kinda on edge with the whole ‘he’s human now’ deal, but the man can take a bath, Dean, it’s not that hard.”

“I’m not saying he can’t, Sam, it’s just... I mean things in practice are a bit different than things in theory, right? I’m just gonna pop my head in on him real quick, make sure he’s alright." What on any other day may have been a twinge of annoyance at Dean’s assumption of his ineptitude is drowned out by Castiel’s overwhelming thoughts of ‘Oh, father thank you please father please.’ The door creaks open too slowly.

“Cas, buddy, you doin’ okay man?” His throat isn’t working. Or is it his lungs that aren’t working? The air is so heavy. It’s not supposed to be this heavy.

“Cas?” Dean opens the door enough to stick his head in.

“Are you- holy shit. Holy shit!” Cas winces as the bang of wood hitting the tiled wall echoes through the tiny bathroom, but forgives Dean the infraction when he kneels by the tub, cupping Castiel’s heavy head and taking it’s weight from his neck. Dean other hand is scrabbling at the bottom of the bath, flinging water onto the clothes Sam had left out. Castiel eyes them with detached regret. They should have stayed dry. It would have been nice to wear dry clothes. They shouldn’t be wet. He was gonna wear them, so they shouldn’t be wet.

“Ow, fuck!” Dean winces, elbow deep in the dirty water. That’s not good either. Dean will probably complain about getting dirty later. He doesn’t like getting dirty. He pretends he doesn’t though. He thinks being dirty means he’s tougher than when he’s clean. A low gurgle reaches Cas’ ears, and Dean pulls his arm from the water with a hiss.

“Dean, what the hell’s going on?” Sam calls from somewhere nearby. Sam is loud. Cas shuts his eyes and turns away from the sound with a moan.

“Hey, hey no, come on man, this way,” Dean coaxes Castiel to turn back towards him.

“Sam, grab a towel, I’m getting Cas out now.” Cas tries to say something. Dean isn’t sure what he’s saying. Cas isn’t sure either. Dean slides forward so Cas’ head is in the crook of his elbow, sliding his other arm under his still submerged waist with another grimace. He heaves Castiel up from the water with a loud squelch, and Cas giggles at the thought that the water enjoyed his company so much it didn’t want to let him go. It’s nice to feel wanted.

“What happened?” Oh. Sam is already at his hips, taking the weight of his lower half and helping Dean carry him over to the filthy mattress, laying him out on a clean towel. Castiel’s head is swimming, and even though they’ve put him down he still feels so _heavy._

“Hell, Sam, I don’t think he’d turned the ‘cold’ dial more than half an inch, that water was so fucking hot. How long has he been in there for?”

“I dunno, maybe an hour? Hour and a half?”

“Shit.” Christ, they just keep on talking. Cas turns his head and tells them to shut up. At least he thinks he told them to shut up. He hopes he told them to shut up. Then blessed, beautiful _cold_ spreads across his forehead. God, he didn’t even know he wanted cold until just now. He murmurs his blessing of thanks, turning his head in to the sensation with eyelids flickering weakly, fighting to open against the dizzying weight.

“Hey hey, easy buddy. Just relax. We’re gonna cool you off, you’re gonna be okay.” Abstract pressure slowly sharpens into recognizable sensation, and the hand pressing the wet cloth to his forehead moves away, bringing more blissfully cool cloth upon it’s return. It slides along his collarbone, down his chest, across his stomach, spreading lightness in its wake. His eyes, less heavy now, win their battle, if only briefly. He smiles deliriously up at Dean, who blinks back at him. Scared. Why is he scared? He shouldn’t be scared. Dean attempts a weak smile, and says _something._ Cas can’t quite make it out. So a few garbled words of his own tumble out unbidden from his loosened lips. Dean’s face changes abruptly, and it would be much easier to decipher what that means if Castiel could actually tell what the hell he just said. He’s too tired to fight off unconsciousness long enough to ask though, so he lets himself fall away to the feeling of hesitant hands. Perhaps in the morning...


End file.
